كابوس
by Tai Kuroba
Summary: This wasn't real, this wasn't happening, no no nonononono...


Bakura sighed moodily and scowled at the ceiling. He rolled over and tried one last time to relax, breathe deep, drift off… This was not working. He extracted himself from under his mother's arm with some difficulty- she was deeply asleep, so her arms were like stone noodles- and tottered sleepily towards the toilets.

He did his business only half-conscious, several times drifting dangerously close to a distinctly unpleasant awakening. Almost as soon as he finished, a loud crash brought him abruptly to full alertness. What in Kemet could that have been? The boy bit his lip uncertainly, whatever it was, it probably wasn't good… His father's voice rang out, proud and strong and furious. Strange, harsh voices shouted back, and Bakura heard his mother scream.

That ended his indecision immediately. Bakura crept warily back to his house, trying his best to remember everything he had learned in school and from his father- _Stay in the shadows, stick to walls when you can_- He pressed himself up against the wall and reached out with a trembling hand to ease the back door open. After a deep steadying breath- _Keep calm under all circumstances_- Bakura pressed his eye to the gap and gasped. He pressed a hand to his mouth- _Make as little noise as possible_- and tried in vain to get himself under control, watching with horror. The boy tottered unsteadily back to the toilethouse and retched. In the space of a few short seconds his world had been torn to shreds.

A man in strange clothes Bakura had never seen before was draped bonelessly across their bed, his jaw slack and tongue lolling- courtesy of the dagger buried up to its hilt in his chest. Bakura felt a surge of pride in his father that died painfully almost immediately. Laying on the floor with a gaping hole in his stomach- It wasn't. It couldn't be. Those blank, staring eyes didn't belong to Father- Father who was strong and brave- Father who he loved- His hero. Those weren't his father's organs staining his mother's favorite carpet, the purple one with white flowers around the edges. Those pretty little flowers were red now- He retched again, his stomach convulsing painfully.

He had watched, numb, as more strangers materialized out of the shadows. The leader looked down at the body- Not Father, never Father- with disdain, cleaning his sword with a piece of cloth Bakura vaguely recognized as one of his own kilts. The man strode predatorily into the kitchen and dragged his mother out, hauling her roughly by her arm. Bakura sobbed, he had been wrapped in that arm just a minute ago. She raged at them, incoherent with grief and anger. Her tears flowed with abandon as she shrieked curses in her captor's ear. He slapped her solidly across the face, and told her curtly to shut up. She stared at him blankly for just a moment and then she lunged, sinking her teeth deep into his shoulder. The man howled with pain and fury, throwing Bakura's mother to the ground and planting his foot on her chest. He sneered down at her and pressed, breaking her ribs with a sickening crunch. She gasped and coughed, blood speckling her chin as the man swung his sword down-

Bakura heaved again and again, his stomach long since empty of all but acid. He sobbed dryly, out of tears, out of hope, the sight of his parent's blood flowing through their living room like some nightmare version of the Nile still burning in his brain.

Bakura jerked awake, letting loose another shriek that tore at his already raw throat. Strong arms wrapped tightly around him and he thrashed, desperate to get away from the horrible strangers, "Bakura!"

He went limp at the commanding tone in his mother's voice, experience telling him that it was better not to fight her when she got like this- Wait. His mother's voice? Seemingly satisfied that he was done struggling, the arms relaxed and held him close. He breathed in a deep, shuddering breath, reveling in his mother's scent. She was alive, not dead, not headless… She cradled him to her chest and ran her fingers gently through his hair, crooning, "Hush now, child, it's alright. You've had a nightmare, that's all, just a nasty nightmare…"

Bakura peeked over her shoulder at the distinctly blood free room and listened to his father's snores. They were okay, they were alright, not dead not dead notdead- He started sobbing again, tears of relief and residual fear eventually carrying him back to sleep, wrapped in his mother's loving embrace and the soft hum of an old lullaby.

A/N: Hey, even future Thief Kings have to pee. Aren't nightmares just the worst? XD I really liked this idea, which was totally based on the nightmares I had as a kid. Sorry if this was confusingly written, hopefully everything's clear now. And if not, my betas will set me straight and make this something more worth reading. The title is mine own "cleverness". I couldn't come up with a less obvious title so I put it in a foreign language.


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